


Spy vs Spy

by Nui (Nuiihren)



Series: Curse of Strahd Shorts Collection [8]
Category: Curse of Strahd - Fandom
Genre: Humor, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28055859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuiihren/pseuds/Nui
Summary: MAJOR CAMPAIGN SPOILERS!Vasili von Holtz and Rictavio are two very ordinary young men with nothing to hide. Neither suspects anything strange about the other and really, what would there be to suspect? They just want to spend some time in each other's exceedingly pleasant company and absolutely nothing else.
Relationships: Rictavio/Vasili von Holtz
Series: Curse of Strahd Shorts Collection [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031067
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

It was well past midnight in Vallaki, mists cloaking the empty city in grey stillness, when the doors of the local tavern swung wide open. Accompanied by a jarring cacophony of voices and laughter, two men stepped out into the rectangle of light that extended from the doorway into the darkness of the street. The two didn’t look much alike - the blond one dressed in mismatched colorful clothing, almost outrageously cheerful against Barovia’s usual bleakness, while the broad-shouldered brunet next to him could easily pass for the most upstanding citizen Vallaki ever boasted. Yet both were just about equally young, handsome and drunk.

“My friend!” said the blond man, who a couple of hours earlier had introduced himself as the Magnificent Rictavio. His voice was shrill, words slurred to the point of becoming nearly-unintelligible, “my dear friend! Va… Vasili! I’m so, so happy that you don’t… don’t mind that I parked my wagon in your yard!” 

“Not at all!” his companion laughed in a pleasant baritone. He was a little more composed, but the healthy flush on his clean-shaved cheeks and the shakiness in his step betrayed that he, too, had a few glasses too much to drink. “I told you a thousand times already, Rictavio, it all seems like an entirely happy accident to me!”

“Oh I know, but still! Still!” Rictavio said. He swung his arms up in the air, almost kicking off his own hat. “It’s a bit embarrassing, you understand? Here I am, coming to this wonderful city and people tell me I can leave my wagon in that yard and no one says a word about any fees! And here I am, see, next to no money about my humbly magnificent person and there are you, the most… most exalted proprietor of… of… of that damned profitable yard, you know? Whatever shall you think of me! Oh, my lovely Drusilla won’t let me hear the end of this!”

The man called Vasili gave Rictavio a few consoling pats on the back. “Don’t… just don’t worry, my friend, we can come to an arrangement regarding the fees, I’m sure. It’s no trouble! Not after such a lovely evening!”

“No-no, you’re too good! I’ll pa… pay all of it back!”

“Aboso… abso… absolutely not, don’t even mention it! I won’t hear it!”

“Oh, but I will!”

Loudly continuing to proclaim their readiness to either pay or forgive the debt, the two men made their way through the otherwise empty streets, finally reaching the very yard that caused so much dispute. The infamous wagon stood right in the middle of the little square, as colorful and outrageous as its owner, who, upon approach, squatted before the door and started to pat himself down in search for his keys. Vasili, towering behind him just a bit more still and upright than when Rictavio was watching, gave the vehicle a curious look.

“Quite a way to travel,” he said, while Rictavio, still searching his seemingly-countless pockets, plunged right into an unlikely tale of how he crossed the world’s deadliest desert in his trusty home-on-wheels.

When the door was finally open, halfway through the story, the wagon revealed itself to be messy, simple and remarkably tiger-less. Not that Vasili had any reason to expect a tiger, of course.

“I really didn’t plan to have any visitors, you see,” Rictavio said as they entered, “but little did I know what pleasant men Barovia had to offer!”

Vasili closed the door with a charmingly abashed smile. “As my father used to say, what good is life without surprises?”

It seemed the cold night air had sobered up both men or else both got tired of slurring their speech. Before either one could contemplate this fact, however, Rictavio caught Vasili by the front of his cloak, pulling him closer.

“What good indeed,” he said, pressing his mouth against Vasili’s. 

For a moment the man looked taken aback by the vigor, but answered in kind, parting his lips to let Rictavio’s tongue glide across his remarkably blunt normal-sized teeth and into his mouth. Not that Rictavio had any reason to expect the teeth to be sharp, of course. Pieces of clothing started falling on the floor in fast succession, while both fumbled impatiently with each other’s clasps and fastenings: first the feathered hat, then the embroidered cloak, the doublets and the undershirts.

“Ow,” Rictavio complained in between, “don’t pull on my ear like that, it’s not coming off!”

“Terribly sorry, got carried away…” he murmured apologetically, reaching for the buttons of his own breaches that Rictavio was repeatedly trying and failing to find, “interesting shape...”

“Half-elf, dad’s side.”

“Mhm right…” Vasili’s mouth was at his neck, giving it a playful bite, then laughing as Rictavio winced a little, “could’ve sworn you said it was your mom earlier...”

“Well... memory and wine don’t go well together...”

The stubborn buttons finally gave in, but before Vasili could pull down his breeches, Rictavio pressed him against the shelves of an open cupboard with unexpected forcefulness, lips traveling down his chest.

“Ah damn!” Vasili, who was just about to relax and enjoy the situation, let out a loud hiss, suddenly raising his hand to his face. “It… I cut myself on something!”

Rictavio pulled back, the realisation and then sincerest distress rising in his eyes. 

“By gods, I’m so sorry! So sorry!” he gasped. “I broke a bottle of holy water earlier, thought I got all the shards together, but I guess not! Let me see if it’s bad?”

Vasili seemed to suppress a groan, shaking out his hand in irritation, a few droplets of blood falling on the floor as he moved across the tiny space to sit down on the only chair.

“Come, let me put a bandage on it,” Rictavio offered, though his eyes remained fixed on the splatters of red on the wooden floorboards for a few moments too long. “Or that vampire lord of yours might come knocking, you know.”

Vasili chuckled.

“It’s just a small cut,” he said, “I was surprised, that’s all. And haven’t you heard? There are no vampires in Vallaki. Our good Baron protects us from such horrors.”

“What a relief it must be in these lands!”

“Indeed it is. And if he fails...”

“If he fails?” Rictavio moved closer again, Vasili watching him with a thoughtful smile.

“I’ve read a few books on monster hunting and the like, you know,” he winked. “Some famous ones too, I’m a bit of a collector.”

“Oh my friend,” the half-elf said, “don’t be silly! Such books are useless, I guarantee you! People who write them have never seen a monster in their life. I mean think about it, how would someone who’s out and about adventuring have the time to write books? People like that are either too busy or too dead.”

Vasili tilted his head to the side in contemplation as Rictavio, too, fell uncharacteristically silent, observing him. For a moment both seemed remarkably less like two young and very drunk men looking for a night of fun, but that, of course, would be a false impression.

“You know, I’ll have to concede the point,” Vasili finally said. “But now, can we please move to the bed? I expect you haven’t lost any shards there?”

“Oh,” Rictavio shrugged innocently, “no shards, but there might be a stake somewhere! I was so scared by all these vampire stories, you see, I put one under my pillow and now I can’t seem to find it...”


	2. Chapter 2

It was a nice clear day, as far as days went in Barovia. There was no rain and the mists around Lake Zarovich had dissolved just about enough to offer an unobstructed view on the mountain peak of Baratoc. In another place, one might have hoped for the greyness to vanish completely over the course of the day, giving way to the sunny blues of the sky, but for the locals here this was as good as it got. Still, the lake was near-empty, most Barovians too busy with their daily troubles to come out and enjoy the weather. Only two men were walking along the shore, boots in their hands, water splashing at their bare feet. The taller one bent down to pick up a particularly flat pebble and, after running it over his knuckles, sent it flying across the water in a sharp practiced motion. It hopped once, twice… five times before going under the smooth surface with a small splash.

“Show-off,” the other man snorted.

“Says the one calling himself _the Magnificent_ Rictavio!”

“I’m just stating the truth,” he winked, “but you, Vasili, are a show-off.”

“Fine,” Vasili said with an unbothered smile. He was, after all, known as a good-natured man who wouldn’t argue over such trifles, “so… think your Magnificence can do it better?”

“Easily!”

As if he was just waiting for the challenge, Rictavio threw his boots and bag on the grass behind them and started searching for another stone. Watching him, Vasili shook his head, but after the second pebble flew, jumping up and down, over the lake, he, too, joined in. All of this, naturally and unavoidably, escalated into a throwing competition for the next half-hour.

“See,” Vasili said as they finally sat down in the grass, both already wet to their knees, “I told you you couldn’t beat me.”

“Of course I can’t! Because you’re cheating.”

“Cheating how?”

“Oh, my dear friend,” Rictavio smiled slyly, “I can tell you’ve been hiding the best stones from me. That’s why I didn’t find a single flat one.”

Vasili’s hearty laugh carried over the still water, scaring a few birds into flight.

“By gods, you’re such a sore loser!” he edged closer to give Rictavio a quick kiss. “I might like that about you, though.”

“I’d say I like your smugness, but I’m not actually sure I do… not sure at all...”

Vasili laughed again, this time with an almost self-conscious air about himself.

“I’m sorry if that’s the case. I truly didn’t mean to offend.”

“Oh please,” Rictavio gave him an offhanded wave and started rummaging in his bag, “such a wonderful, truly, absolutely well-mannered guy has never offended anyone in his life, I’m sure. No-no, I’m certain! You couldn’t offend if you tried.”

Vasili flushed, almost too visibly, the expression on his face all pleased embarrassment, while his companion revealed a bottle of wine and several pleasantly-smelling parcels wrapped in bright kerchiefs.

“I went to the tavern in the morning,” he explained, unpacking his offerings, “thought I better get us something to eat for our little expedition.”

“So thoughtful of you!”

“I mean, who’d like to go hungry all day? That’s no good, no good at all. And you know, if there’s anything decent in Barovia, it’s you and the wine, so I couldn’t pass up a chance to combine both, could I? But the other stuff is fine too, the Martikovs can cook, at least. Here, have some of this… it’s pretty nice,” without as much as giving Vasili time to react, Rictavio broke off a chunk of cheese he’d just unwrapped and nearly jammed it into the man’s mouth.

Vasili, the well-trained warrior he was, managed to dodge it with speed an impressionable observer might have called supernatural.

“Let’s start with wine,” he proposed, a nonchalant smile back on his lips. “I had a decent breakfast, myself. And please, if you’re still bitter about losing at throwing pebbles, you should consider a better way to get back at me than punching me with cheese.”

“Noted,” Rictavio said, examining the sealed bottle, “ah… I’m embarrassingly weak, I’m afraid… a little help?”

“Sure,” Vasili said.

He fixed the bottle under his muscular arm, palming the cork with the other in preparation to pull it, but frowned immediately. A strange expression entered his face.

“Why… is it wet?” he asked in a completely even voice.

“Wet?” Rictavio’s eyebrows rose in confusion. “Oh… I’m not sure, maybe I spilled something in my bag? Is something the matter with that?”

“Well… no. Just thought it was weird,” Vasili shrugged and finally uncorked the wine.

They sat together for a while, taking turns to drink right from the bottle and feeding each other cheese with an almost competitive insistence. Yet the bottle appeared to hold a lot more wine than could be expected from its size and Vasili, who declared he didn’t like cheese all that much, decided that there were more exciting ways to spend their time. A man passed by just as they were done with their fun without noticing them lying in the tall grass - the only person to disturb their peace all day - and they watched him slowly row his boat out to the middle of the lake.

“Have you heard?” Vasili said, nodding in his direction. “People say there hasn’t been any fish in the lake in recent weeks.”

“What’s he fishing, then?”

“One has to wonder…”

The boat was turning smaller by the minute, no more than a dark blot on the vast lake already.

“You know,” Rictavio suddenly exclaimed after another bout of lazy silence, “I realised why the cork was wet!”

“You spilled something in your bag?”

“Yes, yes! Indeed I have! Want to know what?”

“What?” this time the smile on Vasili’s face appeared slightly tortured - but Rictavio was still looking at the lake.

“Holy water…” he sighed in sorrow.

Vasili sighed too, eyes full of reproach.

“Be more careful with that stuff, you know? One day you might actually need it and it won’t be there.”

“So sweet of you to worry!”

“Of course I worry,” it was Vasili’s turn to wink, “this is, after all, Barovia.”


End file.
